


One True Love

by KaelaByte



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After the Fall, First Person, Journal Entries, PTSD, Therapy, good luck fam, third person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelaByte/pseuds/KaelaByte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is one thing that John knows, it's that Sherlock will always come back for his one true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. March 12th

**Author's Note:**

> tags and warnings will be updated once I finish plotting the story out.

_It’s been nearly a year since Sherlock left and I still can’t seem to get my mind off that day. Every time I close my eyes I see his coat flapping in the wind as he falls; hear the sickening crunch as his skull hits the concrete below. I know it’s not healthy to dwell, but it seems that everywhere I turn there is something to remind me of him._

_A few weeks ago I started seeing a new psychologist, hoping that I would be able to talk out whatever issues I still have with that aggravating man that haunts me so long after he is gone. Until then I suppose I will just have to muddle through day by day with the reminders of the man that I once considered my best friend_


	2. April 6th

_My doctor recommended that I start with the beginning. How I met him, and why I started with therapy. I’m not sure if it will help but I find myself staring at a blank page for hours with nothing to show for my efforts; so I suppose it’s as good a place to start as any._

_A few weeks ago I finally managed to drag myself down to the pub to see Greg though the visit was less amiable than he seemed to have hoped it would be. As much as I love my friend the fact that I only knew him because of Sherlock was never far from my mind. Always lingering there, tainting what should have been a welcome escape from the small bedsit I had moved into months back and rarely seemed to have the energy to leave. But it wasn’t. After just an hour or so Greg finally brought up what seemed to have been on his mind all night: therapy._

_Obviously he knew that I had been seeing Ella Thompson before I had moved in with Sherlock, and now he asked whether I can considered going back to my appointments. His reason for asking was obvious. If my continued excuses as to why I couldn’t meet up, and now the cane that was once again ever present by my side didn’t suggest that I was as fine as I tried to act. Although I assured him I would consider it, I know he didn’t believe me._

_As we parted ways he pressed a business card into my hand, the name of a new psychiatrist in it. Doctor H. Fell. Apparently he was well respected within the psychiatric community. Greg said if I wasn’t willing to go back to someone who already knew my history with Sherlock, perhaps I would consider someone new._


	3. April 10th

John walked uncertainly into the large office building. His step clicked across a marble floor as he made his way through the lobby, quickly passing the receptionist and making his way into the brightly lit elevator in the back. The floors slipped by slowly as he fiddled with the cane in his right hand. The old wood worn smooth where his fingers had rubbed over the grain again and again. 

Sooner than he would have liked he found himself knocking on the solid wood door that led to a richly furnished office. He was ushered in by a richly dressed man, his voice soft with an accent that John couldn’t quite place though it certainly wasn’t local. Books were placed in neat rows all around the room, many of them yellowed at the edges like old men warily watching the years tick by unnoticed and irrelevant.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” the therapist invited, gesturing to one of the two armchairs positioned in the middle of the room. For an instant John saw not the dark woods and heavy fabrics of the office, but the chaos and warmth of Baker street. He struggled to reorient himself, shaking his head slightly to dislodge the image of himself and Sherlock; each sitting in their respective chair as they had so many nights in the past.

Shuffling over John sat down heavily, watching as the other man took his time to seat himself, flipping through a folder as he meandered. Everything about the man was immaculate. His hair was carefully combed to one side,his suit, while somewhat garish, was obviously of a good make and without a single flaw. 

There was something off about the man, however John had to admit it was very likely that he was simply distrustful of psychiatrists on a whole after his last attempt at therapy. Months of counselling didn’t do half as much as a single night with.... Never mind. It didn’t matter now. Sherlock was gone, and John had to learn to deal with life without him.  
Tuning back into the conversation at hand John realized that the doctor was looking at him expectantly. 

“I’m sorry?” John asked quickly, cheeks flushing slightly as he realized he didn’t remember a single word that had been said so far. 

“I asked if you had noticed any problems readjusting to life without your, friend.” Dr *** said, eyes glinting slightly in the dim lighting that surrounded them. 

“You could say something like that.” John chuckled, the statement devoid of amusement.   
Dr Fell frowned slightly, “Well, perhaps we should start there.” he suggested, leaning back into his chair and crossing one knee over the other.

Soon enough the two were immersed in conversation, each man seeming to warm to the other as time went on.


	4. June 25th

_Just a few months after starting therapy I have noticed a big change in my thoughts and behaviors. No longer do I feel like I am sitting on the outside looking in, all emotions seeming to be locked behind an iron gate. Things are starting to get a little better everyday, though I still can’t get Sherlock’s death out of my mind._

_Dr. Fell says that's normal, I suppose he would know better than I would. I can only heal the body; the mind is still a mystery to me, even after spending so much time with the one man in London that seemed to know more about it than anyone else_.


End file.
